


The river within us; the sea all around us

by ElenyasBlood



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mutual Pining, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Selkie Keith (Voltron), Selkies, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-11
Updated: 2019-05-03
Packaged: 2020-01-10 22:17:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 16,182
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18416960
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ElenyasBlood/pseuds/ElenyasBlood
Summary: For as long as he could remember, Shiro had always been a son of the sea. It was the one constant in his life, a steady lifeline in moments of grief and wonder, and he appreciated the safety that came with predictable ebb and flow of the tides. After settling down by the beach his life was comfortable yet hollow, until one day on the fishing boat he brings in a curious catch—a seal with strangely intelligent eyes—and makes a momentous decision that will shake his own life to its very foundations.





	1. sàbhail

**Author's Note:**

> And here it is. 
> 
> My first Sheith fic, and a multi chapter on top. Also a fantasy AU. With selkies! ~~i'm not even greedy at all, what are you talking about~~
> 
> The majority of this fic is written and I'm currently tinkering with the last chapters while simultaneously editing the upcoming ones before sending them off to my beta. I'm looking to update at least once a week with the possibility to shimmy in some extra chapters edgewise once in a while maybe *\o/*
> 
> The fic's title refers to a poem by T.S. Eliot: The Four Quartets - The Dry Salvages. 
> 
> Rated it E for eventual smut, I will update the tags as i go!! ! 
> 
> The chapter titles will be related to the contents of the chapter and a corresponding gaelic word since this dying language deserves so much more respect and recognotion and the oldest Selkie tales are still delivered in Gaelic
> 
> A big thunderous round of applause for my beta Jess, who's about the most patient and encouraging person on this planet and never fails to make me laugh, improve myself, and push my own personal boundaries. If you're here to heal from the pain and suffering s8 has caused you, please go and consider her fic [we could be giants](https://archiveofourown.org/works/17879852/chapters/42202349), a post s8 canon compliant fix-it fic that'll blow your mind and make it all better. **I swear.**

Shiro skimmed the horizon with a frown.

The day on the sea had been unusually warm and sunny; even with the sun ready to plunge below the water at any moment Shiro could still feel its sweltering touch. It had been distracting to feel the unusually balmy kiss of warmth on his face all day, and Shiro was sure to feel some angry-red heat lingering on his cheeks. But now there were thick layers of clouds balling above the coast line, their bleak gray threatening to swallow the dazzling clear sky.

“Shiro.” A familiar voice made Shiro spin on his heels. “We're gonna do another round—move your pretty ass and give me a hand, will ya?”

Shiro had to bite back the groan that formed in the back of his throat as he left his spot at the guardrail to join his colleague. The fishing boat—still bustling with activity despite the later hour—was rather on the small side, and it didn’t take Shiro long to cross the quarterdeck.   

“Sun's already setting,” he objected as soon as he was close enough for the other man to hear him. “Think it's wise to give it another shot?”

Lance gave a light shrug. “I dunno, man, wasn't my idea.” His teeth glistened in the golden light of the setting sun. Sweat clinging to the arch of his brow as he busied himself with fixing a net, he looked exhausted.

Tearing his attention away and out to the water again, Shiro took a moment to appreciate the view. Tiny waves gurgled against the boat’s hull and seagulls played in the distance, croaking and fighting over a fish. The sky was tinged pink and orange, the sorts of colors that shouldn’t exist in nature and gave the surroundings a glowing, otherworldly hue. It would have been a setting of rare serenity, if it hadn't been for the threatening wall of lead-gray clouds looming over the horizon and pushing closer with every passing second.

“That's not a good idea, man. Those spring storms can be pretty—”

A man with an impressive moustache and shaggy, ginger hair interrupted the conversation with a sharp slap against the back of Lance's head, sending the young man reeling. “It’s Captain's orders, and you two lazybones better do what you're told.”

“Yeah, but Shiro's right, Coran,” Lance huffed, rubbing the painfully throbbing back of his head. “We could be—”

“Can it, young man. Captain said we're going to go for another catch and so that’s what we’re doing,” Coran cut in with a shrug before he went to gather the nets. Walking away, he announced, “And if you still want to have work next month you better keep your mouth shut next time. _Both of you_.”

Shiro caught a glimpse of Lance rolling his eyes at the words, but the two of them kept quiet for once and begrudgingly went to work. Somewhere beneath their feet the boat’s engine rumbled to life. With more fishermen spilling out of the cabins, voices quickly filled the still evening air, and after less than a minute the deck was crammed. Talking loudly over each other, everyone was busy pulling up nets, checking buoys and laughing about jokes so filthy they made the tips of Shiro's ears burn.

“Shirogane, check the ship's screw!” someone yelled and over their head, and Shiro went to follow the barked order, giving Lance an apologetic smile before making his way to the back of the barge. He made it halfway there when a tiny tremor ran through the boat’s hull. The engine gave a splutter that jolted the boat into a surprisingly smooth, stoic motion.

The wind picked up just as Shiro bent over the guardrail, eyes searching for something that might be obstructing the giant steel screw—but was greeted with nothing but the endless, green depths of the restless ocean.

“All clear!” Shiro shouted over the tugging of the engine and gave the man just around the corner a thumbs-up.

With the boat steadily plowing along, Shiro decided this was a good time to hang back a bit. They wouldn't miss him on deck, especially with the older fishermen working like a well-oiled machine. It was no secret that the majority of them frankly didn’t give two shits about the two fresh faces on board, really. The crew was rough and unabashed and Shiro had decided to like them, though that feeling didn't seem to be mutual. And despite being generally comfortable with the constant company, once in a while it was good to have some alone time away from everyone. Back here, it was just him and the open sea and a moment’s worth of peace and quiet under a copper spring sky.

Slipping a strip of chewing gum out of his pocket and popping it into his mouth, Shiro took a deep inhale as he leaned against the railing, eyes searching the horizon again. It was his first trip of the year and he'd only gotten the job because of Coran’s good connections and _god_ , he had missed this: the sun, the salty breeze, the gentle up and down bobbing of the boat and the rough-spun ropes between his fingers. Well, the ones that weren’t metallic and had the ability to feel, anyway. He missed working with his hands and spending his days under an open sky, fresh air in his lungs and salt on his lips. Truly, after being caged in another life for far too long, it had felt like coming home when he boarded the ship six days ago.

Shiro was made for the sea and he had known it since he was a little boy.

Born during a mild February night in their little house by the beach, the waves were first to sing him to sleep, woven with the soft voice of his mother. The waves told him how to move in the water when he was barely four years old, murmured under his window when he woke from pain-fueled nightmares. He remembered the soothing embrace of the ocean cradling him when he fell gravely ill at the age of ten and could still feel the shushing kiss of cold when he had his first hangover and spent the day at the beach, arms and legs hanging from their dock and face buried in the salt-drenched wood. It was the ocean that momentarily distracted him from the aching void inside his chest when his grandma died, and he'd never forget his first kiss down by the stony bay, under a moonlit night sky, heart fluttering beneath his ribcage and feet grazing the cool waters. The sea was his home, his shelter, and whatever turn his life had taken, he always felt drawn to it like moth to a distant moon.

The men were already in their positions when Shiro returned to the quarterdeck. Looking for Lance, he strutted past the idly chatting sailors and reached his friend just in time to feel the boat slow down, allowing them to drop a few selected dragnets into the water with a loud splash and then wait for the signal to let down the rest.

“Coran thinks you're pretty,” Lance began bluntly as soon as he spotted Shiro on the railing.

Shiro felt his brows furrow in confusion.

“That's not—Lance, _for Christ's sake_! That's not what I said, you hopeless fool,” Coran protested and smacked the back of the young man's head again, a little blush creeping up his cheeks.

Lance snorted. “You literally said—” He dropped his voice a few octaves deeper to comically mimic Coran's gruff rumble—“‘That boy's way too pretty to work so far away from his girlfriend for the summer.’”

Coran was about to object vehemently, but Shiro just shrugged. He had trouble stifling the laugh that gathered in his throat at Lance's poor imitation of the seasoned fisherman. “It’s alright, Coran. I'm not taken.”

“Shiro got dumped because his pretty ass is married to the sea,” Lance cackled, ignoring Shiro's annoyed sigh.

Coran looked like he was entertaining the thought of landing another blow on Lance’s head, but decided against it in favor of shooting Shiro a pitying glance. “Sorry, son,” he murmured. “Age old story, huh? Hard to love a woman when you—”

“Oh god, what is it I've got myself into here?” Lance interrupted and rolled his eyes so hard Shiro expected them to pop out of their sockets at any second. “I thought this was a fishing boat but apparently it's a support-group for failed relationships. You guys need a moment together?”

“So what if we do” Shiro replied as soon his friend was finished, shrugging. “Nothing wrong with being comfortable with your emotions.”

And turning to Coran, Shiro explained, “Besides, I’m gay. And Lance is just an idiot.”

To his credit, Coran didn’t seem even mildly surprised and instead he rasped a laugh. “Nothing but a pretty face, that Lance.”

“Oh, now _I'm_ pretty, too?” Lance mocked. “Slow down big boy, you sure you can take us both?”

Neither Shiro nor Coran dignified that with an actual response but instead kept working in companionable silence. The boat came to a sudden halt a few minutes later and after they'd dropped the rest of the nets into the water there was nothing else to do but wait.

•••

They spent the evening below deck.

After practically inhaling their meager dinner—sardines in oil, stale bread and a few salted pickles that quickly became the center of a heated discussion—the clouds had finally opened to release a sheer flash flood of a downpour onto the boat, pelting down on fishermen and the weather-beaten deck alike.

“We’ll hold out inside,” the Captain announced as he trudged by the workers. “No use trying in this weather.”

With nothing else to do, banished into the muggy warmth of the cabins by the elements, most of the men resorted to busying themselves around a quickly set-up gambling table.

With a few of them playing dice, others tossed cards onto the table and Shiro had his nose buried in one of his books. The quick, cold shower of rain had turned into a full-blown thunderstorm within minutes, the boat tossed around by the waves, the hull bucking like a young stallion and the wood groaning under the leaden weight of the water that poured down relentlessly. Lightning flashed across the horizon, eagerly chased by rolling thunder of such deafening intensity it shook the earth to its very foundations and left the fisherman no choice but to wait out the apocalyptic conditions.

Despite the weather, the atmosphere below deck was cheery, the men's spirits high and their jokes good-natured. Coran and his companions were just about to give Lance another lesson in _Crazy Eights_ when the door was pushed open and the Captain strolled in, his face wet with rain.

“Get to work, mates,” he uttered in his gruff voice, eyes squinting against the warm, yellow light of the oil lamps. “Pull everything in, we're leaving at dawn.”

And just like that their comfortable idleness was interrupted. Popping their backs and straightening their legs, the men went to put on their slickers before heading outside.

The rain poured down heavily on Shiro's shoulders as he stepped on deck. With a grunt he hastily pulled up his hood before following the trail of dirty footsteps his colleagues had left on the wet planks. The wind was sharp, howling in the grates of the nearby cliffs and sending shivers down the fisherman's back. The sky had turned pitchblack and only the crude lightning revealed the path in front of Shiro as he trudged to where the others were already busy pulling in the catch. The ground swayed unsteadily, tiny whirlpools gurgling along the hull, sucking the boat from side to side, and it took Shiro a long moment until he reached his position. Pushing past Lance, he clutched the railing, ready to lend Coran a hand at the crank.

“Keep a close hold, son,” Coran yelled over the howling storm, his beard and hair already soaked with salt water that kept gushing up and over the guardrail, turning the deck into a death trap.

Shiro's face was determined when he nodded while his fingers scrambled for purchase against the slippery metal lever. The ropes moaned under the heavy weight of the catch as Shiro slowly started to spin the crank, inching the net higher and higher before pulling it out of the water and above their heads—where it stayed for a couple of breathless heartbeats. Spilling more water on the deck, the net dangled from a huge, rusty hook, a squirming mass inside. Fish, crabs and little squids crawled over one another as they desperately tried to get back into the sea, gaping for precious oxygen to fill their gills. The sight both delighted and saddened Shiro and he felt guilt churning in the pit of his stomach. It had always felt wrong to him to kill just for the sole purpose of making money. But he had to live off something and a good catch meant good money—no matter how much he pitied the slithering mass of writhing bodies inside the net.

“Lower it down!” a voice ordered from somewhere and Shiro complied, changing the cranks and spinning again, his artificial hand against the metal handle and eyes focused on the catch. Just a few more inches and one of the fisherman stepped underneath the net with a squint before unhooking the sharp clasps to release a flood of sea creatures onto the slippery deck.

It took Shiro exactly two seconds to realize that they had gotten more than they had bargained for when he spotted a seal flopping amidst the dying fish. Alive and breathing. And with eyes wide in terror.

Moving frantically, the seal’s beautiful gray pelt was speckled with blotches of black, and looked incredibly soft. Its slim head sported a spectacular convex profile, and the long muzzle was open in distress, showing a pink tongue. The creature looked incredibly panicked, thrashing around in the slippery pile, and its parallel nostrils blown in an effort to take gulping breaths. Its sleek body was long and muscular, and it briefly occured to Shiro that—after being hunted to near extinction—there hadn’t been a recorded sighting of seals in the area for almost twenty years.

And as he stood there, gaping, staring into those dread-filled eyes, a realization clicked into place; the seal was staring back.

Not like an animal, not like a seal. Like a human. It _knew_ —and Shiro’s heart sunk.   

After a few moments of stunned silence, voices became loud against the thunder.  As the crew broke out of its collected stupor, boots scraped across the wooden floor and suddenly men surged forward. The metal hooks in their hands were sharp, glinting in the flash of crackling lightning and Shiro felt ill.

“Get it!” a voice screamed, and a few of the men tripped over themselves as they tried to make their way across the slippery deck to where the panicked seal was trying to get away.

Their eyes were wild in the swaying, yellow light of the boat's oil lamps and Shiro’s brain stuttered to a halt on a single thought: this wasn't right.

Seal hunting was illegal. They were protected by the conservation society. And no matter how desperate the crew was for a catch, no money in the world would ever be able to justify the mindless slaughter and bloodshed of such a majestic creature. The seal was of rare beauty—even with its lips pulled back in panic to reveal a row of razor-sharp teeth—and everything about it seemed wild, pure, savage and yet so strangely familiar to Shiro.

“Step back all of you!” It was the Captain's voice that broke through the chaos, derailing Shiro's train of thought and momentarily hindering the fishermen in their attempted murder. “Get the fuck off it, you idiots,” he barked before stepping into the light, revealing a thoughtful frown on his face.

“That’s a fat catch,” one of the sailors jeered, trying to jab at the cornered animal.

Grabbing his weapon tighter, one of the fisherman kicked a wiggling fish out of the way before approaching the seal with glinting eyes. “It’ll sell for big money, Captain. Haven’t been any seals around for a while and people of more refined tastes sure miss that sweet taste of seal flesh.”

“I said step _back_ ,” the Captain growled more forcefully over the voices and for a moment of stolen innocence Shiro could breathe a little more freely. The Captain was a good man. He wouldn’t allow the seal to be slaughtered. He knew the law. He—

“It’s more worth to me alive than dead,” the Captain continued, and just like that, he single-handedly destroyed Shiro’s crumbling faith in humanity.

Turning to the face the seal, the Captain waved another crew member over to hand him a knife. The animal’s flailing movements had become more desperate at the sight of the sharp weapon—something that shouldn’t happen, Shiro’s mind whispered. _Seals don’t recognize knives._ Flinching, it tried to drag its body away from the crowd, its muscular tail hitting the planks in a steady _thud thud thud_ as it produced sharp hissing and gurgling noises from its throat. It had torn its flipper scrambling for purchase against the boat’s deck and a thin, steady trail of blood leaked from the wound.

“Wouldn’t it be easier to kill it now instead of having to fill the tank?” the tallest, bulkiest sailor bellowed, but the Captain's voice spoke over him.

“It stays alive until I say so. And that decision is final,” he explained and heedlessly gestured towards the terrified animal. “Now get some nets and get to fucking work. I don’t pay you to stand around.”

There was a wave of murmured protest, but in the end the crew didn't have a choice but to follow orders. As the crowd dispersed, a group of fishermen stepped forward and the animal’s distraught movements became more erratic. Hissing, it tried to get away from the dragnets but in its blind frenzy only managed to tangle itself further, until after a moment’s worth of struggle it stilled underneath the ropes. “Now,” one of the sailors yelled, and with five other men stepping forward they had the animal surrounded. Their faces were indifferent, their hearts apathetic towards the seal’s panicked struggle for its life. “On the count of three,” someone yelled from somewhere, and then they started to drag the creature away and out of Shiro's line of sight.

Shiro found himself frozen to the spot—as he had been during the unfolding of the horrid events. Heart racing a thousand miles per hour in his chest and hands balled into hard fists, he stood against the railing, the pouring rain forgotten and his throat clogged with bile.

It wasn't right, none of what had just occurred was right. The seal didn't belong on a boat, shouldn’t have been in the net in the first place. Nor should it be treated like this, like a commodity. It shouldn't be locked away, at the mercy of lesser creatures—and most of all it shouldn't be killed.

It was a child of the sea, a token of a long forgotten world—barely more than a fleeting memory, and that’s where it belonged: buried in the depths of the ocean, far away from humans and their cruel, cruel nature.

“Shirogane!” A voice sharp as a whip stopped Shiro's train of thought. “Pull your head out of your ass and give me a hand, will ya?”

Wincing in surprise that his body was capable of such a mundane thing as movement in the face of such a tragedy, Shiro followed the barked order without thinking.

Stepping around the corner, he witnessed a crew member kicking the door to the storage room open and Shiro caught a glimpse of the writhing, struggling seal. It was whining now—a low, pleading moan in the back of its throat—and the last thing Shiro could see was a pair of black eyes, wide with horror and understanding.

•••

Shiro didn't even bother to join the rest of the crew after they had finished work. With the catch securely stashed in the giant freezer and the deck cleaned from every trace of life, he immediately went for his cabin, not even bidding Lance good night.

His mind was still reeling, head spinning from the events that had unfolded that day, and with every breath he took he felt a leaden fist crush his heart into bloody mush. His limbs shook violently when he peeled his body out of the slickers and somehow he knew it had nothing to do with the sharp breeze, nor the cold rain.

“Goddamn, Shirogane,” he whispered into the darkness as he dropped himself onto the hard, narrow bunk bed. His hands came up to scrub his face in an attempt to still the dizzying swirl of his thoughts, but for a long, long time no such thing happened. With his heart thundering inside his clenched rib cage, he continued to stare at the ceiling while the ocean cradled the boat in its unsteady arms.

It was long after midnight when Shiro finally decided that something had to be done.

He had spent the last few hours contemplating, thinking so hard he was sure he could hear the gears grinding inside his skull. He had tried to talk himself out of the misery, had focused so hard on sleeping that he got a headache from it. He had sought to distract himself by thinking about sex, had pulled at his cock almost violently in an attempt to stroke it awake, but without success. He'd cursed and groaned, had yelled into his pillow and finally he had given up.

Now his thoughts were spinning like a merry-go-round again, but this time they didn't blow out into nothingness, but formed an actual plan in his head: Get up, go to the storage room, free the seal, return to your bed, don't get caught, sleep. Fucking finally sleep. _Easy_.

Pretty simple. And looking back at the history of men, the simplest plans had always been the best ones.

As he laced his boots, Shiro tried not to dwell on the fact that he didn't have an actual clue how to get the seal out of the fish tank and into the ocean without scaring the crap out of it. There was no room for doubt right now—and time was running out. Grabbing his jacket and an oil lamp, Shiro left his cabin and was glad to find the other fishermen already fast asleep, their snoring deafening even through the thick wooden walls.

The thunderstorm had somewhat diminished throughout the late night hours and only the sound of the rain pelting down on the quarterdeck broke the silence of the open sea. Waves clashed lazily against the hull and Shiro felt a little bit of tension bleed out of him.

The door to the storage room was unguarded and Shiro felt a jolt of anger pinching his chest. The Captain was a moron for keeping the seal unattended when some members of the crew had openly stated their desire to kill the animal rather than keeping it alive to be sold. “Asshole,” Shiro spat, taking a few deep, even breaths before he leaned in to press an ear against the wooden storage-room door.

It took him a few seconds to adjust to the task as he tried to blend out the constant pitter-patter of the rain. Blood was coursing through his veins in a thunderous cacophony.  When he was completely sure that there would be no unpleasant surprise waiting behind the door, he grabbed the handle. He was sure he could hear the soft padding of naked feet against the planks behind the door, but when he slowly pushed the door open and stepped inside, he found the room empty.

_Weird._

The place wasn't quite as big as the freezer, and the narrow walls reeked of dead fish and rotten wood. The air was stifled, tasting of dust, and Shiro had to fight down the urge to gag before he followed a trail of dried, muddy footprints to where the water tank was located. It was usually empty, only rarely holding any sea creature in a laughable attempt to keep the poor things alive and fresh. Tonight it had become the holding cell for a seal with big, wet eyes and a frightened expression on its gray face.The fuzzy light of the oil lamp Shiro was carrying was scarce and barely enough to bathe the surroundings in a yellow glow—but for now it had to suffice.

“So, uh, hey,” Shiro tried as he stepped closer to the tank and lifted his hand over his head, hitching the lamp higher. There was movement inside the stale water of the tank and Shiro froze on the spot. He wasn’t quite sure why he bothered talking to the trapped animal, but something inside him told him he should. Besides, a few friendly words to soothe the scared seal couldn’t hurt, could they?

“My, um, name is Shiro and I—”

His words stirred more rapid movement, water sloshing over the edges and dripping onto the floor. Shiro caught a glimpse of flailing limbs moving frantically against the glass walls, and then a good, long glance of the lean, pelt-covered side. It was breathtaking: all smooth muscles and shimmering skin. Its colors were of an even gray, ashen and dazzling in darker shades down where the hind flipper flirted with the waves. The blotches across its body were of a glossy black, every single one of them crested by a silver hue.

Shiro couldn’t stop the disappointed sigh when the seal pulled out of sight again.

“So, I'm Shiro and—um, you probably can't even hear me but I want to help you.”

There was more water pouring out of the tank with the seal’s panicked movements, but Shiro decided that it was best to just keep on getting on with the plan. With a sigh he placed the lamp on a hook that dangled from the ceiling before he dropped himself on the floor, sitting cross-legged in front of the tank.

“I was there earlier, when they caught you, remember?” he whispered in a soft voice. “I pulled the net out of the ocean and god, I'd give everything to turn back the clock and see it undone. I didn't even know you guys were still around. Always thought you were extinct.”

He paused briefly as he watched the movements slow down, the flashes of silver and black hiding in the depths of the stale, greenish water again. It was odd, but Shiro couldn’t fight the feeling that the seal understood.

“My mom told me about you when I was a little boy. How you rule the ocean and live in perfect sync with the sea, unseen, unacknowledged but still there. She used to tell me stories about your kind saving sailors after they'd capsized, keeping them alive and their heads out of the water until rescue arrived.”

It seemed like with every word falling out of Shiro's mouth, the waves stilled a bit more, the motions inside the tank becoming less frantic until at last they subsided completely.

“It's funny how I always dreamed about getting rescued by one of you guys as a kid and now I'm the one... uh, anyway.” Shiro trailed off and he needed a few seconds to regain his composure.

He was about to continue when he noticed a slim, gray muzzle press against the tank’s glass. The seal's eyes were still wide and panic pooled in the inky black depths, but it didn't seem as frightened anymore.

Shiro took it as a good omen.

“Man, this is really nuts,” he mumbled more to himself and was about to inch closer when he caught a glimpse of a warning on the creature's face. “But almost everyone on this boat aside from me wants you dead, buddy, and I don't want that to happen, okay? You belong to the sea, and I—god, I really just want to help.”

The seal blinked slowly and Shiro's voice dwindled to silence, momentarily distracted by the eerie intelligence swirling in the seal’s eyes. It looked so cunning, and Shiro had to remind himself that he was looking at a predator.

“I, um—you probably don't understand one word I'm saying, do you?” he whispered after a few beats of deafening silence. There was no reaction and Shiro sighed.

“Anyway, we have to get you out of here.” He pointed towards the door, accompanying his words with wide gestures as he explained his plan. “And soon. It's almost 4 am and the others will be up shortly. I’m gonna drain the tank first, then somehow manage to heave you onto this—” Shiro's voice wavered as he pointed towards the large plastic sheet he had brought from his cabin “—and then drag you outside. I’ll probably have to pick you up to get you over the guardrail.”

He trailed off, musing, as he displayed a cradling gesture before pointing to his own chest and then towards the seal.

“I know it's not very pleasant but you have to trust me on this, you hear me? Goddamn why am I even still talking to you?” Another string of curses rushed out of Shiro's mouth before he composed himself again.

“Look... seal. You and I—” he made the accompanying gestures “—have to get out of here. I want to help you; I want you to be free. But you have to trust me.” He pointed to his own chest and held up his palms as he leaned a hesitant inch closer. “Those men outside, they want either your death or your imprisonment and I can't allow either.”

The seal seemed to flinch at the urgency in Shiro's words but stayed put, even as Shiro moved closer yet again. There was something close to understanding dawning on the seal's face and slowly the panic in its eyes made room for a slightly wary expression. Black pupils eyes flitted towards upheld Shiro's palms, down his body and up to his face again as if to study him, contemplating.

“We have to do this, do you understand? I have to get you out! I, um, I have to take you away from them—” Shiro's voice stuttered and he almost winced at the scrutinizing gaze of the seal.

Completely aware that he was getting in his own head, and in the process of making a complete fool of himself in front of a goddamned seal, Shiro scrambled for words.

“You have to trust me, okay. You—” he began to gesture again, very slowly, as if that made any difference in an animal’s eyes—“have to trust me! Please, let me help you.”

The seal's eyes darted down to Shiro's open palms again before they rested on his chest, boring a hole through his ribcage right where his heart pounded violently against his bones.

“Please.”

Shiro almost sobbed when the seal inside the tank didn’t vanish into the murky waters of the tank again and instead stayed put when Shiro leaned in close to open the drain. Relief washed over him like a wave of ice-water, and carefully he unfolded the plastic sheet.

“Okay... good. Very good,” he rambled and it took him every rest his of self control not to frantically scramble to his feet but slowly straighten up instead. Pushing to his knees and from there to his feet was easier said than done and by the time he stood upright, the seal was gone.

“Please, please, please,” Shiro whimpered and felt his heart drop into his stomach. He was rapidly running out of time. “Please don't do this to me, buddy.”

And as if the creature had understood his pleas, the seal promptly emerged from the tank, head poking out of the waves to reveal a clever, wet face with dripping whiskers.

“Okay, I’m gonna open the latch and let you out now.” Shiro explained. “The only thing you gotta do is to get on that sheet and sit tight so I can get us the hell out of here quickly.”

It was more reassurance for himself than for the seal when Shiro mumbled “Yeah okay, it's okay. I got this,” before bending down and opening the latch, letting the rest of the water stream out, and with it the seal.

There was a brief moment of absolute silence—nothing but the howling wind and the soft pitter-patter of the rain against the deck between them, and Shiro forced his body to still completely. He didn't want to scare the seal, didn't want it draw any attention by stirring a sudden noise. But to his infinite relief instead the seal did exactly as Shiro had asked and carefully slipped out of the tank and onto the waiting sheet.

“Okay,” Shiro mumbled, surprise ringing through him like a bell. “Let’s get you out of here.” And gripping a corner of the plastic sheet, Shiro carefully began their precarious journey.

They made it to the door without any problems. The seal was heavy even on top of the smooth plastic sheet, but Shiro was considerably stronger than most of the crew members, and with his biceps bulging he managed to get keep them moving. Shiro wasn’t sure if he witnessed a miracle, or maybe it was by sheer luck, but remarkably the seal didn’t leave its designated spot. Instead it remained perched on the sheet, still as a statue, eyes wide and glued to Shiro’s face.

Getting across the threshold was a bit of a challenge, but once outside it was smooth sailing all the way to the quarterdeck. The wet planks provided a slippery surface that allowed Shiro to work faster, more efficiently, and soon the guardrail came in sight.

The seal had perked up as soon as it felt the rain against its pelt and its barely visible ears were twitching at the roar of the waves. Yet it obediently stayed put as if to keep from hindering their path, baffling Shiro with its seeming understanding.

However, the hardest part was still yet to come. The ship’s railing was high, the seal heavy, and Shiro was rapidly losing faith in his own plan. And the strength of his arms, for that matter. He had broken into an almost feverish sweat—from the exertion or the absurdity of the situation he couldn’t tell.  

“I’m gonna need your help for the next part, buddy,” Shiro muttered into the rain, dropping the sheet. “It’s time for you to get the hell out of here.”

Looking up at him, Shiro swore the seal was cocking his head as if to figure out his words. Its muzzle opened on a low, quiet whine, and after inching a bit closer to the guardrail, it carefully reared up to place it’s fore flippers on the withered wood.

“I must be dreaming,” Shiro whispered, scrubbing a hand across his face. There was no way the seal had understood what Shiro was trying to do, and yet here it was, balanced on its powerful hind flippers and as if waiting to be picked up by Shiro.

Slowly—so as to not spook the wild animal—Shiro approached the seal, swallowing around the lump in his throat. If he was wrong and the seal wasn’t indeed in agreement of Shiro’s foolish, venturous plan, Shiro was facing the very real possibility of losing his other arm pretty soon. And after having dragged the animal all the way to the railing Shiro was surely not prepared to fight of an easily 180 pound predator.  

But then again, the seal seemed to be waiting patiently, completely still and with its big, glossy black eyes shimmering in the rain. And there had been plenty of opportunity for it to bite Shiro’s head off when they were trapped in the storage room, after all.

Hoping against all better judgement, Shiro decided to shed all reason and crossed the remaining distance between him and the seal with a tentative step.

“Let’s finish this, buddy,” he whispered and carefully, with the seal’s alert eyes never leaving him, Shiro lowered his hand onto the creature’s back.  

The seal's skin was cool, wet and smooth under his touch. The silvery pelt was otherworldly in its softness, silken and plush, with straining muscles rippling beneath the supple surface. The seal didn’t move, only huffed quietly and with something akin to contentment.

Carefully splaying his fingers out, Shiro could sense the gentle dip and fall of the seal’s breath, a motion so real and human it pulled Shiro out of the momentary trance and back to his task.

Once he was sure the seal wasn’t just waiting for a better angle to plunge for his throat, Shiro firmly planted his feet on both sides of the impressive hind flippers. With both hands now—artificial and human—he leaned forward until his nose almost brushed the top of the seal’s skin.

Heart in his throat, he hesitated.

“I'm sorry,” he heard himself whisper unable to stop himself. “I'm sorry humans are assholes. This should never have happened.”

The seal didn't show any sign of understanding, but for a split second it felt like it was relaxing against Shiro, its weight a little heavier in Shiro’s hands.

“Take care, don't get caught again,” Shiro pleaded and with a grunt he hauled the seal over the railguard and into the angry waves of a lead-gray ocean.

The seal fell fast before hitting the water with a loud splash.

“Goodbye buddy, hope to never see you again.”

The seal didn’t look back, just vanished into the waves and left the fisherman gazing into the water. Something inside Shiro’s chest unclenched right then, and shuddering, he stood by the railing, thinking about what he had done.

The right thing, for sure. But he knew a handful of people who would disagree. And tomorrow they’d show him exactly much.

Shiro was royally screwed.

But with a pleased smile tugging at the corners of his lips he returned to his cabin, finally able to fall asleep as the sun began to rise.


	2. cala dìdein

The Captain had found Shiro the next day, bristling with anger and barely coherent. Foam gathering around his mouth, he had screamed in Shiro's face until Shiro's ears rang and then some. He only left to take his position at the boat’s helm after he'd fired Shiro so thoroughly he was sure it would haunt him in his dreams. Coran had said Shiro should consider himself lucky that the Captain didn't rip his head off.

As soon as they reached the shoreline, Shiro had been kicked off the boat, his duffel bag and boots hitting the pier behind him with a dull thud. A few of the other fisherman spat in the dust next to him, calling him a traitor and hollering obscenities as he made his way towards the land—but to be honest he didn’t give much thought to it.

After freeing the seal, Shiro felt more like himself than he had in weeks. For two precious hours he had slept like a baby—until the Captain had appeared on his doorstep.

And although he was once again officially and thoroughly jobless, he couldn’t bring himself to regret his decision. Despite Neah Bay not exactly spilling over with job opportunities, he was sure something would come up. It wasn’t the first time he got fired, and he was damn sure it wouldn’t be the last. Nothing to be bothered about.

However, what he did worry about was the fact that with a sudden lack of income he was one step closer to losing his parents' house down by the bay. Working as a seasonal deckhand had never been exactly rewarding, and Shiro always tiptoed on the edge of losing his home. But since the bank had increased their rates last month, Shiro was left reeling and with his pockets frighteningly empty.

That's why he found himself standing in Allura's office the very same day he had been kicked off the boat, hair still mussed by the breeze and smelling of salt water. Clutching the coffee cup in his hands, he waited patiently until his friend had finished her phone call, before striking up a conversation with a smile. Retelling last night’s events, Shiro allowed himself to revel in the memories with surprising fondness in his voice, and Allura’s mouth fell open about halfway through. 

“A seal? A real, live one?” she gasped, hands flying up to her mouth. “That’s amazing, Shiro. Is it okay?” 

There was no reason for Shiro to lie, and so he finished the story, although conveniently leaving out the part where he had a whispered heart-to-heart with an animal in the darkness of the storage room. He knew that he would receive no judgement from his friend, but now, in the bright light of a new day, he wasn’t quite sure what to think of his own odd behavior throughout the rescue mission. There were few people on this planet who knew Shiro better than Allura did, but there was no harm in conveniently glossing over a few details. Besides, Allura was already hanging on his words reverently, her clear eyes looking like glaciers underneath her subtle makeup. 

“Oh honey,” she said after Shiro had finished and pulled him into a hug, patting his back gently before squeezing his shoulders. “You look like you need a good night’s sleep after all that.” She brushed a finger over the dark circles underneath Shiro’s eye. 

“And smell like I need a bath,” Shiro echoed, and laughing they both settled back into their respective chairs. Shiro didn’t feel tired, but couldn’t deny that a mere two hours of sleep—no matter how well-deserved and restful—wasn’t enough to compensate for working on a fishing boat all day.

“You did the right thing there, Shiro,” Allura said with a beaming smile towards her friend. “You saved a life, and I think you should be proud of yourself.” 

Unable to resist, Shiro felt himself mirroring the cheerful expression. Letting out a shuddering breath, he took a sip of coffee.

“It's okay, I’m not mad about getting booted,” Shiro said, shrugging slightly. “I just need a new job.”

Smile faltering, Allura’s expression turned apologetic. “I'm sorry Shiro, but I don’t think I can help you out with that,” she said, looking gutted. “I got a new intern last week and I can't afford any more company workers.”

Shiro sighed. “It's alright, Ally. Something will come up, I’m sure,” he said, not entirely sure who he was trying to convince.

Putting the smile back in place, Shiro took a deep breath. “Call me if there's anything I can do, though?”

Allura nodded feverishly, still looking like a kicked puppy. “Of course, Shiro. I'll ask around, too. You're a good, honest and hardworking man; it would be a shame if we couldn't find something for you.”

•••

As it turned out, word travelled fast in such a small town and Shiro remained jobless. 

After what happened on board the fishing boat, no Captain wanted to hire him anymore and some townsfolk started to avoid him. It wasn't just because Shiro had freed the seal—ridding himself and the whole crew of the chance to become filthy rich by selling the rare creature—but even more so because he had disobeyed his Captain’s orders. 

Loyalty was a big deal for every sailor, mate, deck hand and cadet; it was universally handled as the most precious commodity, and the utmost necessity. In the eyes of all mariners, Shiro had failed—and in a town as small as Neah Bay there was no coming back from it. Lance tried to help him by arranging a few short trips with foreign fishing boats, but as soon as the crews got wind of the situation, they would cancel the job offering and send Shiro away again.

It was in late May when Shiro finally found a job as a pizza delivery man. The working conditions were bad and the pizza was even worse, but at least he could drive around town on his own and had a warm dinner four times a week. A cheerful Allura called him a week later to tell him she had gotten him a job as a security guard at the local marine museum—only night shifts and just two days a week but better than nothing, right? Shiro agreed with his jaw clenched and a longing settled inside his chest he didn't think he'd ever feel again. Despite living by the beach, he really missed the sea.

The time he didn't spend inside a smelly car or wrapped in a way-too-tight security guard uniform, he spent fixing things around the house. It was long overdue—the roof already leaking in two different places and the tiles in the bathroom were practically shedding from the wall—and every free minute he spent hammering, sawing wood, stirring cement or measuring latches into the right size. After replacing the broken shingles on the roof, Shiro found the time to change out the rotten panels on the porch and give the railing a fresh, new coat of white paint. He gave the windows a makeover and finally fixed every creaking hinge in the entire house, including the ones on the cupboards. The tiles in the bathroom came down on a humid afternoon in July, and after considering his funds, Shiro went for some plain, gray tiles as he redid the walls and floor. The fireplace in the living room got a thorough sweeping since Shiro's parents had decided to move out to Seattle, and after two weeks of uncoordinated fumbling and cursing under his breath, Shiro finally fixed the sink so it worked properly for the first time in about twenty years.

It was a hot summer with many of daylight hours, the yellow sun sweltering down on Shiro while he worked outside. Soon his skin was tan, the pearly white scar across the bridge of his nose a stark contrast to the soft golden skin. The water was calm these days and the waves gurgling along the stony beach seemed almost playful, licking at Shiro's feet when he strolled along the shoreline in the afternoons. Sea gulls floated in the soft breeze and sometimes a massive gray whale would shove his back out of the water, snorting a fountain of water into the air and stirring the waves with its heavy movements.

Shiro worked hard and relentlessly during the day until his body was all sore beneath his greasy overalls. Only in the tepid evening hours when he sat on his porch as he looked over the peacefully murmuring water did he allow himself to relax and his thoughts to wander back to that fateful night, back to when he met the seal, all sleek muscles and big, frightened eyes. Sometimes he thought about what would have happened if he hadn't decided in favor of the strange creature and whenever he even considered it, a cold, harsh shiver would roll down his back.

“Hope you're safe out there,” he whispered into the salty breeze one evening, eyes scanning the horizon in the hope of catching a glimpse of silvery pelt with inky black blotches. But the seal stayed where he belonged: on the bottom of the sea, far away from humans and their greedy hands.

Shiro would never admit it, but his dreams were filled with swishing tails and and big, clever eyes, too. They clouded over with the expression of bone-chilling terror, the memory of smooth, cool skin and hissing noises falling out of a tight throat. Sometimes they'd zoom in on little details, like the faint brush of tickling whiskers, the twitch of a flipper, the stilling of the seal against Shiro before they separated. The dreams smelled like salt and wilderness, felt rough around the edges. Sometimes they would startle Shiro out of bed in the middle of the night, taking a dark, twisted turn that left him afraid and uncomfortable in his own skin. They were vivid and dazzling, almost palpable in their recounting of what happened that night; and Shiro started to wonder if he was losing his mind after all.

In the last week of August, Shiro got a letter from the bank that his payments were about to increase yet again, and Shiro found himself forced to look for a third job. With furrowed brows he started scanning newspapers in the evenings, delighted to find something suitable within a couple days. 

“Not so unlucky after all,” he muttered as he fished his mobile out of his pocket. 

A new courier company was looking for someone who was willing to deliver packages and groceries to the rather small islands outside the shoreline—the ones large enough to contain a few, crooked houses but too small to have a store or a postal service. Shiro owned a small row boat and most people out there were weirdos, but he was only required to drop off the packages at the pier, so he took the offering anyway. 

Working on the sea was everything he ever wanted to do, after all. 

With three jobs at his hands and one of them forcing him to row to the islands two times a week, Shiro had to stop working around the house. He abandoned his current project—fixing the tool shed in the backyard—in favor of refreshing the coat of tar on the underside of the row boat. 

He signed the contract on a cool, overcast September morning, and got his first appointment for the following Wednesday. The guy behind the counter wasn't too enthusiastic as he explained the schedule, but Shiro didn't mind—he wasn't too enthusiastic about his current situation either.

But life wasn’t exactly meant to be a dance in the daisies, so Shiro took what he could get. 

And soon he fell into a bleak, albeit safe, rhythm. 

Wearing a tight, sweaty suit every Monday and Wednesday night to sit out an uneventful shift at the marine museum was easy. Delivering pizza to teenagers with braces and greasy hair, more often than not ogling him like _ he _ was the delivered good turned out to be more of a nuisance, but nothing he couldn't handle. However rowing out into the open sea every Wednesday and Saturday, working his muscles, sweat running down his back, the sun stinging in his eyes, burning his skin and the sharp breeze tossing him around was where his true calling lay, and Shiro made the most of those days.

It was everything Shiro had missed. And sometimes he found himself floating through the waves after he ran his errands, hands clasped behind his neck and body lying flat on the small rowing bench as his feet grazed the cold waters. That was when he felt truly at home.

•••

The weather was shaping up to be nasty during the upcoming fall, and the Indian summer was soon swallowed by harsh thunderstorms and the sound of rain pitter-pattering against the windows. Mist nestled in the bay every new morning and a stiff breeze brought more rain-laden clouds and hail storms in from the sea.

It was a slow, bleary morning when Shiro was startled out his stupor by the sharp ringing of his phone. Blinking slowly, he picked up the cursed thing and answered the call. It was his boss’ son from the courier company, asking him to do an extra tour later this day.

“What’s the delivery?” Shiro asked, scratching the back of his neck. It was Friday which meant he had to show up early for the evening shift with the pizza delivery service and an extra round to the islands would cost him time. Lots of it.

“Just a few stacks of canned food, two packages from the postal service and a box of—I don't even know, man,” Matt explained as he rustled a few papers around, the sound adding more static to the crackling line.

Shiro snorted. “No surprises this time?” he scoffed, voice even. “No passengers, no dogs, no—”

“No dude, I swear!” Matt cut in.

“I'll do it, then.” Shiro sighed as he scanned the schedule pinned to his fridge. “I could use some extra cash.”

His boss’ son seemed delighted. “Awesome, bro. Come and pick up the stuff around 3 pm?”

Shiro agreed, disconnecting the call, eyes flitting out of the window and towards the gray front of clouds piling up threateningly on the horizon. This was going to be one hell of a trip. With a last, longing look towards his sofa, Shiro left the first floor to get dressed, his coffee cold and forgotten on the kitchen counter.

After picking up the delivery and stacking the boxes neatly into his Jeep, Shiro had a quick snack before making his way down to private pier that came with his parent’s house. The row boat was already bobbing up and down in the stormy, unsteady waves as if it weighed nothing, the wood slippery and dangerous. In the pouring rain, it was difficult to pile the load into the narrow space and Shiro was soaked thoroughly under his slickers by the time he was done, his shirt sweaty and clinging to his skin. During the day the weather had turned from bad to worse, and after the first few oar strokes Shiro already regretted agreeing to the job.

It turned out it wasn't only a bad idea to row out into the storm against his better knowledge, but also the very last decision Shiro would make for a long time.

He was on his way back from the errand when the wind turned offshore, hissing with a ferocity Shiro had never witnessed before. Shiro leaned his entire weight into every stroke, fighting against the water gushing into the boat. Thunder was crashing angrily, the echo thrown back by the far away cliffs deafening. The waves were strong and balky and crested with slimy white foam, spilling into Shiro's slickers, soaking him, chilling him until he shook so violently he could barely hold on to the oars. And after two hours on the open sea, Shiro felt his strength quickly dwindling away.

It got worse when the lightning cracked right above his head and the storm turned downright grim. The boat was tossed around the waves like a leaf and the muscles in Shiro's shoulders screamed with exertion. Blood rushed through his ears and with the first tears stinging in the corners of his eyes he knew he was fighting a losing battle. He was a fool to believe that he could make it safely back to shore, and a fool to row out on a stormy day in the first place. Shuddering, the boat was jostled by another wave, and with a shout Shiro lost his grip on the oars. 

The patches of sore skin on his left hand had turned into blisters—bloody and stinging—wounds washed out by the sea water.

There was something close to peace settling inside Shiro’s chest as soon as he stopped fighting. The oars instantly lost in the whirlpools of the ocean, Shiro clutched the thwart and had no choice but to listen: to the water, hissing and sucking and gurgling and swooshing; to the rain, murmuring a soft lullaby, oddly distant and yet familiar; to the thunder and the lightning, to the shrieking of the stupid sea gulls, equally foolish in their belief they could survive this madness if they only flew high enough. 

And when a giant wave crashed against the boat—toppling it over—Shiro did his best to shield himself from the onslaught before getting sucked into the uncaring, merciless ocean.

His shoulders weak from the rowing, Shiro managed only a few, futile attempts to swim but soon stopped. He was losing this war. The water was angry and strong and throttled him in its grip, squeezing the air out of his lungs and replacing it with dangerous wetness. Gurgling and choking he at last submitted to the terrifying, steady downpull.

Shiro didn't see the giant, brown rock through the veil of seawater and even if he had, he probably could've done nothing to prevent himself from being flung against it. His head hit the craggy surface hard and with a nasty sound, sparks exploding behind Shiro’s closed eyelids.

A cloud of bubbles formed around Shiro’s painful cry, and with his vision graying out, he felt his consciousness slipping away. Gasping he sank down, images of inky black eyes and a silvery gray pelt swirling in his mind, giving him company on his way into the dark depths of the ocean he once fell in love with.

•••

There was a pull on Shiro's artificial arm and it was hard and unyielding and a stark contrast to the soft embrace of the waves. It was _wrong_ , out of place, and Shiro felt hot anger spark through him as he yanked his eyes open, struggling to find the source of the disturbance. He had made his peace with going out like that, cradled in the ocean's painful touch, and he wasn't content with someone taking it away from him.

The darkness beneath the water's stormy surface was complete and almost impenetrable, and it took Shiro a few, blurry seconds to make out the hand that was clasped around his mechanical wrist. _Impossible_. Shiro snorted, sending a gush of white bubbles upwards and suddenly he was painfully aware of the tightness in his lungs, crushing his chest and threatening to send him back into the darkness he was coming from. A sheer endless stream of bubbles spilled past Shiro's lips and he made another, this time stronger, attempt to get away from the hand. 

Was he hallucinating? There was just no way someone else could be out here, swimming, swiftly parting the waves so easily amongst the angry waters. No human could survive such a foolish undertaking.

The tightness in Shiro's lungs kept him from thinking, and despite his initial apprehension he then blindly reached out for the hand, his fingers circling a solid wrist only to give it a weak pull. It was an _I can't breathe_ and a _Thank you for being with me_ all at once. Slipping in and out of consciousness, Shiro's chest pulled tight with the burning urge to inhale. 

He was so close, so close to letting go, to just giving in to the sharp up and down of the waves, the hissing in his ears. And Shiro was weak, his body robbed of all strength. The hand around his wrist loosened and Shiro thought it was good, it was right, it was okay.

That was until he caught a glimpse of long, dark hair and felt strong fingers around his hip. The steady grip prevented him from being tossed around like a ragdoll, and instead pulled him close and into the cradle of a hard body. A solid chest pressed against his and suddenly a beautiful face was so very close to Shiro's, yanking him even closer, troubled violet eyes searching his. 

Shiro's stomach had exactly two seconds to perform a full-on backflip before a pair of cold lips pressed against his mouth, steady and unwavering, not letting go even as Shiro's arms flailed out wide in an attempt to get away and yet closer simultaneously.

This was ridiculous, unreal, stupid, _impossible_ —and yet the other man was there, right in front of him, his hands cupping Shiro's face almost tenderly, holding him in place as soft lips coaxed his mouth open urgently. It was by sheer surprise that Shiro followed the insistent tug. With confusion swimming in his head and clouding his ability to think straight, he didn't get the idea until he felt a stream of cool air rushing into his lungs, sweeping away the burn that clawed at his insides. Shiro almost moaned against the man's mouth and with his hands clinging to tense shoulders he pushed closer, greedily sucking in breath after breath, relishing the pure taste of nothing but sweet, sweet oxygen on his tongue as he swallowed like a starving man.

Shiro didn't know how long they floated under the surface of the raging ocean, bodies pressed flush against each other, hands coming to cling to each other's faces with Shiro desperately licking the breath of life from the stranger's lips. His senses numb from the cold, he reveled in the feeling of being cradled by an steady, unwavering grip. There was safety in staying there, underneath the surface of an angry ocean, and clinging to his savior for dear life. And only when the strange man hesitantly pulled away did Shiro realize that he must have gone delirious.

The stranger made a few gestures, mostly pointing upwards, and while the look on his face was still hesitant, almost wary, his grip was urgent when he looped an arm around Shiro’s hip. 

Shiro responded in kind as he held on to sleek muscles, and together they inched towards the surface. The noises outside the water were deafening, thunder, storm and lightning crashing down on Shiro like a rock, threatening to knock him out all over again. He was dizzy, his heartbeat suddenly uneven as if he'd forgotten how to breathe without the stranger's lips moving against his and with a groan he clutched his head.

“I c-can't—” he gasped over the crashing of the waves. “I can’t swim in this.”

The stranger's reply was a slow nod as his grip tightened around Shiro and strong arms circled around the fisherman's waist, clutching his soaked slickers and the shirt beneath. Wariness had gave way to determination, and with his brows furrowed in utter concentration the stranger started moving. He made a soft, cooing sound in the back of his throat and then he plunged under water again, pulling the struggling Shiro with him and holding him close as they shot through the darkness of the furious sea.

•••

Shiro couldn't say for the life of him how long they swam. He didn't know and he didn't care, his mind at some point going blank. Moving mostly underneath the stormy surface, the stranger by his side made sure to bring them to the surface frequently to ensure Shiro's lungs stayed full of oxygen before diving in again. His pace never faltered, his grip never loosened, and after what felt like an eternity the waves became more ferocious, their hissing almost unbearable as the scent of sand, wet concrete and earth mixed with the familiar salt-drenched tang.

Shiro expected them to crash into the shoreline like driftwood, but the stranger seemed to have other plans as he stirred their bodies through the furious water, pushing and pulling, plowing forward relentlessly until Shiro's hands got hold of the weathered wood of the pier. With shaking hands and the help of strong set of arms, Shiro hauled himself up, fingers scrambling for purchase against the slick timber and his stomach lurching with the amount of water he'd swallowed. Gagging he came to lie down just in time to see the stranger's concerned face disappearing into the waves.

“H-hey, stop—” Shiro murmured, retching out another wash of salt water as he tried to prop himself up on his arms. “Stop, please.” It was a pathetic excuse for a shout, easily swallowed by the howling storm. However, the stranger seemed intrigued enough to listen as his face appeared between the gray waves again seconds later. A few feet away from the dock he cocked his head, expression curious.

“P-Please—” Shiro needed to stop when another gush of water chucked up and out of his mouth “—Let me at least say thank you.”

The stranger didn't react but didn't flee the place either, and Shiro counted it as a small win.

“Thank you,” he muttered hoarsely, and just because he couldn’t stop himself. ”Who are you?”

Nothing on the stranger's face showed that he'd understood the words that poured out of Shiro's mouth, but he watched the man with intent, considering, then made the soft, cooing sound again.

“That was madness,” Shiro rambled on. “How did you learn how to swim like that?”

The man's head tilted, and slowly he approached the pier again, his movements hesitant and the look on his face wary, like he expected someone to throw a net over him at any second. His lips were pursed when he gripped the wood next to Shiro's hand, their fingers brushing briefly as the stranger leaned in with something close to a small smile playing around his plush lips 

“Safe,” he said in a stilted, foreign accent, before submerging himself in the shallow waters again, flitting away within the blink of an eye and leaving a pale, wondering Shiro in his wake.

•••

Somehow Shiro made it up the stony path to his house where he fumbled his keys out from underneath the doormat, tumbling inside and face-planting into the dirt-stained rug in the hallway. Lying there for seemingly endless seconds, he ignored the piercing ring of the phone—probably his boss at the pizza delivery calling to fire him—and listened to his own, shallow breathing instead. The rattling inside his chest was only interrupted by the gagging noises he wrenched out, his stomach still protesting against the sheer endless buckets of salt water he'd consumed.

Eventually he felt stable enough to get up and get rid of his clothing, leaving a trail of wet footsteps and soaked garments on his way into the bathroom. Staining the new tiles, he slipped into the shower and into a spray of hot water, staying there for at least twenty minutes until his skin felt numb from the pressure and his toes were warm again.

The phone rang again when Shiro was curled up on his sofa, but he really couldn't be bothered. Not after today. His muscles, now returned to their regular temperature again, were so heavy it felt like someone had clasped leaden weights around his wrists and ankles and every tendon seemed lacerated from his bones. Blood pumped thick and slow in his veins and there was nothing he could do against the dull pain inside his head except sleep, face firmly planted in the pillow and body coiled into a soft blanket.

He dreamed of silvery pelts and troubled eyes again, but this time his memories tasted like warm, insistent lips and the cold, cold abyss.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> there it is, ch 2! !! Thank you for waiting patiently, for leaving comments and for being supportive.
> 
> it means so, so much to me.


	3. tòiseachaidh

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm sorry this chapter came a bit later, i was busy traveling. :,) 
> 
> thank you so much for all the avid feedback i've got so far, you guys are absolutely precious!! !! ! *w*

Shiro woke up with a dull pain pounding in the back of his head and a throat so parched every breath felt like he was sucking on sandpaper. Groaning, he scrubbed a hand over his face to clear his blurry view.

Rain was still pelting down outside, showering the shingles and weaving the silence of the house into a quiet, familiar lullaby. Sometime during the night the thunder had died down but the ocean was still angry, hissing and gurgling as it spilled over the shoreline.

A quick glance towards the clock in the open kitchen area confirmed Shiro's suspicions that it was early and the shadows nestling the corners were still thick and threatening. In his dreams, Shiro had been revisiting the events of the previous day, reminiscing about the purple hue of the stranger’s eyes amidst the angry up and down of the sea as they held onto each other. Despite the cold water and the coppery taste of panic on Shiro's tongue, the dream had been exciting, the stranger's skin a hot kiss against Shiro's chest and the searing memory turning the cool expanse of Shiro's home into a lonely place.

Shiro got up from where he was perched on the sofa in a cluster of stiffened limbs. He made it to the kitchen counter before a violent wave of nausea crashed over him, making gag. It seemed like his collision with the rock had a more severe impact on his body than originally anticipated. Groaning, Shiro fumbled for some aspirin and a glass of water. Soon the sun would make a futile attempt to break through the thick layer of clouds and then Shiro would have to face reality and deal with the aftermath of yesterday's events. But right now while the world was still asleep and feeling sore and exhausted, he decided to crawl back under the blankets for a while longer.

Swallowing two pills and washing the bitter taste down with a mouthful of cold water, Shiro unplugged the phone before staggering towards the sofa again, flopping down and falling asleep within the blink of an eye.

•••

The next time Shiro awoke he felt even worse. The bump on the back of his head ached, sending a dull flick of pain down his spine with every inhale, his eyes sleep-crusted and stinging.

Shiro got up, fidgeting, stumbled into the kitchen and started the coffee machine before anything else. Plugging in the phone, he dialed the pizza delivery service’s number to face the wrath of his boss but only got voicemail. He tried his insurance company and talked to a bored young lady for a few minutes until she dropped that the bosses weren't in yet and hung up. He didn't have high hopes of actually catching someone at the delivery company and was surprised to find Matt already up and cheerily picking up the call.

“Shiro, buddy, what can I do for you?” he chattered on, slurping on what could be his morning coffee.

“Morning Matt, I um—I had an accident last night,” Shiro replied bluntly, scratching the short white hair at the nape of his neck.

“Oh my god, dude! Are you okay?”

Shiro scoffed. “Sort of. But my boat is—”

“Fucking hell, it happened while you were out on the _water_? Please tell me it isn't about the job I gave you.”

“Yeah, about that...” Shiro's voice trailed off and suddenly he felt awkward. “I, um, kinda capsized when I was on my way back.”

Matt gasped. “You rowed out in the thunderstorm? Dude, you could've gotten yourself killed. What’s wrong with you?”

“The weather surprised me when I was on my way back.”

“Are you badly injured? Like, are you in the hospital?”

“No, no everything’s alright. Just a little rattled. Listen, Matt, I actually called to tell you that I can't do the job anymore. My boat is gone and I can't afford another one until the insurance company—”

Matt's voice cut him off, the alarmed, high-pitched tone somewhat gone from it. “Right yeah, it's a work accident so you should be good. They'll replace the boat eventually.”

Shiro replied with a noncommittal grunt and took a sip from his coffee, the liquid burning its way down his throat. “But until then I'm out of business, I suppose.”

Matt seemed to consider his words for a while before he replied, sounding sorry. “Yeah man, that's a bummer. We really don't wanna give you the sack but my dad can't employ you if you're not able to get the parcels delivered. We’ll have to find someone else.”

Shiro didn't even flinch. “I know,” he sighed and took another mouthful of hot black coffee. “It's fine. Should I come in later to get my stuff?”

“I’m sorry,” Matt said, sighing deeply and sounding honestly upset.

Shiro nodded. “Yeah, Matt I get it. No hard feelings, it's fine.”

They kept chatting for a few minutes before Matt got another incoming call and hung up with a final “Sorry, man.”

Downing the rest of his brew Shiro decided to take another aspirin. Trying the insurance company again, he finally got to talk to his agent. The man sounded mildly concerned and promised he would send Shiro the right papers—then the kitchen fell silent again.

The day went on, as did the rain. Pouring down relentlessly, it covered the bay in a haze of grays and blues, blurring the windows and lashing ferociously around the corners of the house. Most of the time it was nice to live on top of a cliff with the endless ocean below Shiro's feet, and the horizon so close it seemed he could reach out and touch it. But on days like this, when the sea was angry and the weather vicious, it was rather scary to sit between the crooked walls, clutching a cup of coffee and draped in blankets, and listening to the storm howl above his head.

It was around 2 pm when Shiro finally caught the boss of the pizza delivery company on the phone, apologizing, voice low as he tried to explain what happened. The guy scoffed.

“First and last time, Shirogane,” he demanded and huffed at Shiro's immediate “yes, sir.”

“See you in two hours then.”

“Yes, sir.” And with that Shiro hung up, releasing a deep exhale. For once luck seemed to be on his side.

•••

Shiro didn't mean to run into Matt in the office when he dropped by to gather his things in the late afternoon. Drenched with rain he was about to grab his papers and return the keys when the young man strolled in.

“Hey, buddy,” he greeted, looking sheepish. “You have a minute?”

Shiro nodded, eyes nervously darting to the clock on the white wall. “Sure. What is it?”

“So, I thought about the whole accident thing and I'm really sorry. Don't say anything, I know it's not my fault but man, I feel like the biggest asshole for canning you right now. That's not the kind of boss I want to be once my dad hands over the company.”

Matt took a deep inhale and Shiro nodded slowly, understanding. He felt sorry for Matt who continued to squirm uncomfortably under his gaze. “It's alright; it's not your fault anyway. I should've known better than to row out—”

“Yeah, probably. However,” Matt mused, hands fiddling with a stack of papers. “I talked to my uncle earlier and told him what happened. He owns the fish market on the Main Road and as it turns out he could use someone to sell him some stuff.”

Raising an eyebrow quizzically, Shiro said “Stuff, huh? Sounds like a great opportunity, Matt. But as you know I don't have a boat and I can't fish without one.”

“Look, I don't even know, I've no clue about the fishing business whatsoever,” Matt replied with a frown. “But what happened to the good old fishing rod?”

Shiro shrugged. “I dunno, man.”

“What, um... what about fish traps? Can you do them? You live down by the bay, right? Shouldn't be too difficult to set some traps down there somewhere.”

“That could actually work,” Shiro agreed, brows furrowing with the intense thinking he was doing as gears started to grind behind his forehead. He remembered having a few fish traps in the shed. They were old and probably needed some fixing, but it was better than nothing and his dad would be happy to hear his old supplies were being put to good use again.

“See? This way my uncle gets to boost his sales and I can stop worrying about your sorry ass, dude.” Matt beamed.

“I don't know what to say, Matt. I'm just— this is very nice of you? You really didn’t have to trouble your uncle,” Shiro replied awkwardly. “I have no idea how to thank you.”

“How about _thank you_ for starters, huh?”

Shiro felt the tips of his ears turning hot and pink. “Yeah, of course, man. Thank you. Like really, honestly, thank you.”

“No biggie. Here, I'll give you my uncle's number. Call him in the early morning, he loves that.” Matt scribbled down a few numbers on a crumpled piece of paper before handing it to Shiro, smile still in place.

“I want to thank you properly,” Shiro said before his brain could catch up with his lips.

“Dude, this isn't a chick flick,” Matt replied hastily, grinning wider. “Besides, I'm not into candlelight dinners anyway.”

Shiro must’ve looked particularly lost at that, because Matt was quick to put him out of his misery with a jab to his ribs. “Relax, dude. Take me for a beer some day and we're good. How does that sound?”

“Good.”

“Okay.”

Shiro's eyes darted to the clock again only to have it sent a hasty jerk through his body. “Shit, I gotta go.” Throwing the keys on Matt's desk, he grabbed his papers. “Pizza delivery is waiting. Thanks again, Matt. I'll call your uncle tomorrow. You're a saint.”

Matt's smile was honest and sweet. “Yeah, yeah. Don't mention it,” he uttered, waving Shiro goodbye before the door fell shut.

The rest of the evening passed uneventfully. After apologizing again to his boss, Shiro slipped into the greasy pizza delivery uniform and spent the night inside the company's tiny car, switching through the channels on the radio when he wasn’t waiting in the kitchen corner for something to do. The business wasn't exactly booming.

•••

When Shiro called Matt's uncle the next morning, the man expressed his wish to meet Shiro in person before offering him a job, so Shiro shimmied into a pair of clean jeans and his best sweater, marine blue and thick and warm. Picking up some coffee and a donut on his way into town, he arrived at the fish market the same time as Matt's uncle, a small, stocky man with a fuzzy beard and crinkles around his eyes. They talked about the sea and being in the fishing business for a while before going on to the more important things: contracted hours, conditions, and salary. It turned out Mr. Holt's expectations weren't that high after all, and half an hour later Shiro signed a loose contract and left the place with a smile and the warm feeling of having accomplished something today.

He used the chance to grab some groceries on the way home and to fill up on gas. The rain had somewhat faded during the night and Shiro was grateful when he pulled into the driveway, parking the car and getting the bags inside before changing into his oldest, greasiest overalls.

The bay was covered in a soft veil of mist today that looked like cotton wool. The rain had turned the cliffs into a dark, blank mass and the smell of salt and rotten algae clouded the air. Sniffing, Shiro trudged through the backyard towards the shed, leaving a trail of footsteps in the muddy mess of grass and bloated earth. It took him about half an hour to pull all nine fish traps out, spilling a can of white paint in the process and cursing throughout the whole cleaning process. He managed to scrape his left palm on the sharp edge of a rusted nail while dragging the last trap into the fuzzy daylight where he began his inspection.

They were mostly okay, the nets largely intact and only a few moths had managed to chew through the strings. The wire in the ovals was a little rusty and one of the bow nets had lost its shape entirely due to being trapped under a bunch of tires for years. But otherwise they were good to use and Shiro couldn't help the pleased smile that spread across his face. His job situation was still not ideal but he would manage. Money would come in in small amounts and it would be enough to pay his bills and taxes—at least until the bank decided to increase the rates again, that was.

He spent the evening and half of the night sitting on the kitchen table, patching the ripped nets up. It didn’t take his fingers long to remember how to work nimbly with needle and thread. Admittedly, with the added challenge of the prosthetic he struggled a bit in the beginning, but soon the mechanics ran smooth enough and with every passing minute his confidence grew. After all, he had done things like that for the better part of his life and it soon he fell back into an old rhythm. Stringing the loops together where they had lost grip of each other, he skillfully knotted and secured his work after he was finished with them. The nets felt rough and familiar under his touch and still smelled faintly of salt and sand. Shiro worked quickly and efficiently in the quiet of his kitchen and only stopped when his head started to throb again, the bump pounding unpleasantly and sending irritating sparks of blinding pain through his veins.

The fire in the hearth had shrunk, the damp cold daring to spread throughout the house, and Shiro groaned as he got up slowly. His brain seemed fuzzy around the edges and he scrubbed his hand over his face. Fatigue gnawed on his bones and there was a void inside his growling tummy, protesting and stinging and reminding him of the complete absence of food for the better part of the day.

“Shit,” Shiro mumbled to himself as he started preparing a little midnight snack in front of the TV before settling onto the spacious sofa for another short night, deprived of sleep and haunted by the images of strong, delicate fingers and big, dark eyes with pupils blown wide with surprise.

•••

Apparently the alarm clock didn't give two shits about it being Sunday when it went off before even the crack of dawn. Groaning, Shiro fumbled for the damned thing, pointedly slamming the off-button before sitting up. It was still dark outside and the ever-falling rain was knocking on the windows again—but if he wanted to get something done today there was no chance to delay.

Snatching some cereal from the cupboards and brewing a single mug of hot, strong coffee, Shiro inhaled a quick breakfast and slipped into his waders, bleary-eyed. He chose a thick sweater over a simple shirt and after downing the burning hot liquid he put on his rubber boots and slickers. Minding the darkness lingering outside he decided to pick up a headlamp before he took a deep breath, bracing himself against the cold as he opened the front door.

The wind was keen and wiped the warmth off Shiro's skin immediately. Rain seeped into his hairline before he was able to pull on his hood and a shiver ran down his spine, pulling a groan out of his chest. Squinting against the darkness—that to his relief wasn't as thick as he had expected—he picked the fish traps up off the porch and headed towards the beach, carefully minding the perilous, slippery path.

When he reach the foot of the cliff, Shiro hesitated. It was always the first step that took the most overcoming and it wasn't exactly different this time. Where the wind had been cold, the water was freezing, and it sent a spike of resistance through Shiro's body as he waded deeper into the waves. The nets still clutched against his chest, Shiro made his way away from the shoreline, carefully mapping out the area and counting on his knowledge of the shallow waters to navigate.

The ground was stony beneath the hard soles of the rubber boots and he managed to slip only twice before arriving at the almost straight line that he knew drew the border between shallow waters and treacherous depths. It was the perfect place for the fish traps to be set out and Shiro did so by slowly sinking the first one into the freezing waves, thoroughly securing the net with a couple of stones he found to make sure it wouldn't be swept away by the motions of the sea. It was dangerous to work in the fuzzy half-light of the upcoming day, so close to the slippery border, but it had to be done and Shiro was left with no choice.

After setting out the third trap, Shiro's breath was labored and his fingertips already started to become numb from the cold; after the seventh he was heaving and soaked with mist and sweat and salt water. His sleeves drenched despite the slickers and his brows furrowed in utter concentration, he was wading back to the dock to get some more nets when he spotted some unusual movement to his left.

It would have gone unnoticed by an untrained eye, but even in the half-dark Shiro could make out the tiny convulsions of the water _against_ the wind, the almost leisurely roll of waves in the wrong direction. It was disconcerting to say the least.

And yet Shiro couldn't tamp down on the small voice that constantly reminded him of a swish of long, dark hair and a pair of soft lips pressing against his. And how much louder it grew in that moment. Curiously he set down the nets he was about to grab and followed the trail of unusual rippling water to its source, carefully minding his steps. The wind had picked up since he had started his tedious work and it howled in the cliffs as Shiro made his way through the water. Stirring the troubled surface of the sea, Shiro noticed with a frown the splashes of water hitting his thighs and belly, soaking him further.

For a second he was tempted to turn around. Just drop the last traps and be done with it instead so he could return to the warmth of his kitchen sooner rather than later. Pausing in his path, it was then that he spotted a glimpse of bare skin and waving hair floating underneath the stormy water surface, right where the riff ended abruptly.

“Huh?” Shiro couldn't help the gasp, his heart skipping not one but a few beats at the sight. Could it be? Was he back? Christ, did he catch the guy again? He was about to continue his steps as suddenly the world went still and a head popped out of the waves, a beautiful face amidst the chaos of the ocean.

Blinking slowly, Shiro felt his throat go dry. “H-Hey,” he stammered out without knowing why this suddenly felt so intimate. “I, um... can I help you?” Smooth, Shirogane, very smooth.

The look on the stranger's face didn't change; instead he kept looking stoic and slightly wary. But he didn't seem particularly startled, and instead a frown settled onto his dripping wet features.

“Are you hurt?” Shiro tried again and took a tentative step forward, carefully watching the stranger's reactions, although there wasn't much to see.

Shiro took it as a sign to continue in his path, cautiously putting one foot in front of the other while asking “Are you trapped? Do you need help?”

Shiro felt like a moron for talking to the man like he would talk to a child, but up until this point he didn't even know if the stranger understood any of the words that were tumbling out of his mouth so clumsily. It briefly occurred to him that he should be paying at least some attention to the fact the stranger was not just obviously skinny dipping in the goddamn Atlantic ocean on a stormy September morning, but also didn’t seem to mind the crashing waves, nor the steady pull of the tides. But Shiro’s brain seemed to have stuttered to a sudden, embarrassing halt and it was all he could do not to stare with his mouth open.

“I really hope you're not squirming in one of my nets. That would make me feel like a complete jackass.” He made a vague gesture towards the dock.

The stranger cocked his head at the sight of Shiro's flailing. With his iridescent, purple eyes registering Shiro’s move, he shrugged before cracking a small, tentative smile. “No,” he muttered under his breath, his voice raw but _oh_ so pleasant.

Shiro felt his heartbeat spike at the sound and couldn't help the smirk that spread across his own face. “Good,” he replied breathily and stilled a few feet away from the stranger, his eyes idly raking across the man's face. He couldn’t keep himself from taking in the few scattered droplets of water that clung to his lashes, the silvery tone of his pale skin and the gentle curve of his upper lip, slightly curled with the smirk.

“I thought I might have to pull you out of a net.” The look on the stranger’s face turned perplexed and Shiro tried for a gesture that might have resembled the meaning behind his words.

The stranger's smile deepened. “No,” he repeated and gave a slight jerk as if to show Shiro that he was free to move. “F-Free.”

Shiro almost toppled over with relief as he watched the stranger wiggle between the waves, laughter bubbling up in his chest. His heart was already racing a hundred miles per hour—threatening to burst out of his chest at any second and ready to join the stranger's smooth motions in the water.

“That's good. I mean that's _very_ good,” he beamed. “I'm happy about that.”

The stranger stopped short at Shiro's words and cocked his head again, listening. They eyed each other for a while, gazes flitting from hair to skin to chest and back up, their breathing evening out. Daylight bloomed on the horizon and soon the sun would be making its first attempts to pierce the gray veil of clouds.

“Who are you?” Shiro didn’t mean to ask, but the words slipped out before he could stop them.

Bewilderment washed over the stranger’s face, and suddenly the frown was firmly back in place. With his hands, he motioned a cone-like shape, leaving Shiro stumped.

“What do you mean?” he asked, mirroring the gesture as best as he could.

Snorting air out of his nose, the stranger shook his head and with his heart sinking Shiro noticed annoyance and exasperation on the man’s face.

“Did I say something wrong?” Shiro asked, a little helpless and his voice even.

But somehow that seemed to agitate the stranger even more. With a groan, he scrubbed a hand across his face and moving around in an almost frantic manner he repeated the gesture a couple more times. Eventually he didn’t stop at the cone shape, but pointed at himself, at Shiro, and alternated quickly between an alarming amount of distinctive gestures. His hands were strong, his wrists delicate and the muscle underneath the skin of his chest rippled with the movement. He seemed to grow agitated with every passing second, and eventually just gave up with a helpless look on his face.

“I, um. I really... I should go and get some work done,” Shiro said after few frustrated heartbeats of silence. He'd become restless with the stranger’s obvious distress and his fingertips itched with the need to do something.

“I'm about to set out some more traps—” he made a gesture that would he hoped would explain his words—“for fishing. So you better be careful around here, okay? Don't want you to step in them and get hurt.” His voice trailed off.

The stranger didn't seem to mind Shiro slowly turning around and trudging back through the waves. He stayed, floating, barely moving, his eyes never leaving the fisherman's back. Curiously he watched Shiro pick up the nets again and go to work as the rain slowly began to descend.

•••

Setting out the last few traps shouldn’t have been that big of a deal, but the stranger's presence was distracting, his gaze burning at the nape of Shiro's neck and boring a hole into Shiro’s skull. The job took Shiro twice as long as it should have. He fiddled with the nets more than usual, kicked around in the water as he searched for some proper stones, and the sun had already claimed a spot high above the cliffs when he finished his work.

Shiro’s brain was humming with activity, question buzzing around like angry bees. He was desperate to get to know the name of his savior, who—or what?—he was. He was beautiful, and real, and yet so otherworldly and bewitching. Why was he here? Where did he come from? And how was Shiro ever to repay the debt he owed?

Spinning around on his heels, Shiro curiously looked around just to find the stranger gone. Disappointment washed over him like someone had emptied a bucket of ice water over his head and with a quiet sigh Shiro made his way back, waves sloshing around his thighs and the cold of the mist wrapping around his bones.

He was about to reach for the dock's ladder when he heard a quiet voice behind him.

“B-Bye,” it muttered and there was the sound of a body diving out of the water.

Shiro spun around. “H-Hey,” he boomed out in surprise before he found the decency to tone his voice down a bit. “I thought you were gone?”

The stranger shrugged then shook his head, sending a few droplets of water flying. He seemed undecided, teeth worrying his lower lip—and he was closer now than before.

“Do you wanna say something?” Shiro asked after a few beats of awkward silence, but the young man shook his head again. The look on his face changed from thoughtful to disquieted within a matter of seconds and he was about to turn around when Shiro spoke again.

“Hey, um, can _I_ ask something?”

The stranger hesitated.

“So, I probably thought about this more than I should have, but I'm just really curious and at this point it doesn't really matter if I embarrass myself any further, does it? I mean you pretty much manhandled me through the waves the other day, saving me. So there's no reason to be shy now I guess, huh?” Shiro almost winced at the look of complete and utter lack of understanding on the stranger's face, feeling foolish.

“Anyway, I just—” There was another moment of silence and confusion bloomed in the hazy purple of the stranger’s eyes, spreading rapidly—“What _are_ you?”

By now the young man's brows were furrowed and irritation was radiating off him in waves, sending Shiro into a flurry of sudden panic.

“I don't wanna push you. If you're not okay with telling me that’s fine, too. Hell, I’m probably making a complete idiot of myself here. I mean, you’re obviously a human.”

Words tumbled out of his mouth in a rush before Shiro knew how to stop, his fingers twisting against the cold metal of the ladder as he heavily leaned against it. Worried he might scare the stranger off for good, he started over.

“Let’s try with something easier, huh? Do you have a name?” Shiro asked before pointing to his own chest. “My name is Shiro. Takashi Shirogane.”

The words hung in the air between them and Shiro felt sillier with every passing second. And of course he did what every awkward, embarrassed human would’ve done in his situation: he rambled.

“Pretty stupid name, huh? Shi-ro. Now it sounds silly to me. Kinda weird how I—”

The stranger tilting his head in sudden understanding momentarily derailed Shiro’s train of thought. “Ro?” the young man mumbled and there it was again, the soft, cooing sound. “Shi-ro.”

Shiro felt like someone had pulled the rug out from under his toes and it took him a considerable amount of time before he managed to nod. The stranger's voice was beautiful: soft, a lash of foreign tongue—it made Shiro shiver.

“Right,” he replied with a smile. “Now you know my name and—”

The stranger made a curt gesture, cutting Shiro off—which was probably for the best, because at this point Shiro felt an increasing amount of butterflies fluttering inside his belly that seemed to compel him to say something inexcusably stupid any moment now.

“Shi-ro,” the stranger repeated carefully, before tapping his finger against his own, bare chest. “Ke... Ke-ef.”

Shiro gasped. “Keith? That's your name? Your name is _Keith_?”

The stranger nodded enthusiastically, smile back in place and eyes bright with delight. “Shiro,” he cooed and Shiro almost tripped over himself as he let go of the ladder.

“Keith,” Shiro echoed in response, tasting the name, savoring the flavor of salt and cool fall air, and reveling in the way it rolled off his tongue as it plucked a quiet sigh from his chest.

Keith nodded again and _wow,_ there was definitely a blush creeping up his cheeks before it tinged the tips of his ears scarlet. “Bye, Shiro,” he said as he dropped his gaze.

“Bye, Keith,” Shiro replied just as softly, and with his pulse skyrocketing, he watched Keith dive under until every lean limb, every inch of pale skin was swallowed by the lead gray water.

“See you, Keith. Maybe.”

Hopefully.

**Author's Note:**

> thank you for reading, you guys—it means the world to me. 
> 
> Kudos and comments will keep me alive, but also come and yell at me about how much Keith and Shiro are in love on [twitter](https://twitter.com/noshironocare) if you want to, i'm always happy to meet new frens.


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